I Won $50 Million In The Lottery And Invited My Son To Celebrate. My Nephew Just Caught Him Putting Pills In My Drink. Am I The Jerk For Calling The Cops On My Own Child?
I looked at Danny. He was watching Marcus and Harrison with a strange expression, confused maybe, or concerned.
I said,
“Well, I’m certainly open to advice, but this is all very sudden.”
Harrison pulled out a business card.
“Of course, of course. Why don’t we set up a meeting early this week just to discuss options? No pressure.”
Shadows in the Hallway
The rest of dinner felt strained. Marcus dominated the conversation, talking about investment opportunities, real estate deals, and the importance of acting quickly.
Harrison nodded along, dropping phrases like “liquidity strategies” and “portfolio diversification.” I noticed Danny barely spoke.
He just watched them both with increasingly furrowed brows. After dinner, I poured coffee.
Marcus excused himself to take a phone call in the other room. Harrison went to use the bathroom.
That left Danny and me alone in the kitchen.
“Uncle Tom,”
Danny said quietly,
“I need to use your bathroom too. The one upstairs.”
He said it oddly, with meaning. Then he walked past me and whispered,
“Follow me in two minutes, quietly.”
My heart started pounding. What was going on?
I waited, counting seconds in my head. Then I climbed the stairs as softly as I could.
Danny was standing in the hallway near the spare bedroom. He gestured for me to come close, then pointed to the partially open door.
Marcus was in there, and I could hear his voice, low and intense.
“I told you he’s old and trusting. Once we get him to sign the papers, we move the money into the offshore accounts.”
He continued,
“He’ll never know until it’s too late.”
Another voice spoke—Harrison.
“And you’re sure he won’t get suspicious?”
Marcus replied,
“My father spent his whole life teaching algebra to idiots. He doesn’t understand finance.”
He added,
“We’ll bury him in paperwork and technical language. By the time he realizes something’s wrong, we’ll be gone.”
Harrison asked,
“What about the nephew, Danny?”
Marcus said,
“He’s nobody. A waiter. He won’t cause problems.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the chest. The room spun.
Danny grabbed my arm, steadying me, his face pale with shock and anger.
“And you’re certain about the timeline?”
Harrison asked again. Marcus answered,
“We need to move Tuesday. I’ve already prepared the power of attorney documents.”
He continued,
“We’ll tell him it’s standard procedure for managing large sums. Once he signs, we have legal access to transfer funds.”
Harrison asked about the insurance policy. Marcus laughed, a sound I didn’t recognize.
“The pills are already ground up. We’ll put them in his evening drink tonight. Nothing fatal, just enough to make him confused, disoriented.”
Marcus added,
“By tomorrow, we’ll have him in your office, barely able to read the documents he’s signing. He’s 67, with a history of high blood pressure. If anyone asks questions later, we’ll say he seemed confused, possibly early dementia.”
The Plan for Proof
I couldn’t breathe. My own son, my boy, was planning to drug me to steal from me, to destroy me.
Danny’s hand tightened on my arm. He pulled me back away from the door and into my bedroom.
He closed the door silently.
“Uncle Tom, we have to call the police right now.”
I said,
“I can’t. Marcus is my son. Maybe I misunderstood.”
Danny’s voice was hard.
“Maybe you didn’t misunderstand anything.”
He continued,
“I knew something was wrong—the way that Harrison guy showed up, how Marcus was pushing him on you.”
Danny added,
“Uncle Tom, your son is planning to drug you and steal your money. Thirty-two million dollars. That’s what this was about.”
My son, the boy I’d raised, the child Linda had given birth to after 18 hours of labor. The kid I’d taught to ride a bike and helped with homework and paid for college.
He was willing to drug me for money.
“What do I do?”
I felt ancient suddenly, fragile. Danny thought for a moment.
“We can’t let them know you heard this. If we call the police now, it’s your word against theirs. We need proof.”
He asked,
“How do you have your phone?”
I nodded, pulling it out with shaking hands. He asked,
“Can you record on it?”
I told him,
“I think so. You showed me how last year.”
He said,
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. We go back downstairs, and you act normal.”
He explained,
“Eventually, Marcus will make you a drink—probably offer to help you relax after all the excitement. When he does, you record him on your phone. Get it on video if you can.”
I told him,
“Danny, I don’t know if I can face him.”
My nephew looked at me with such fierce protectiveness that I saw my brother in him.
“Uncle Tom, you’re the strongest person I know. You raised a son by yourself after Aunt Linda got sick.”
He continued,
“You worked two jobs to keep your house. You helped raise me when my dad died. You can do this. You have to.”
